


Let's go the hell home!

by Literally_the_sorriest_cop



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literally_the_sorriest_cop/pseuds/Literally_the_sorriest_cop
Summary: Exhausted and depressed about Harry, Jean returns home from Martinaise. All he wants is a little peace and rest.But things are never that easy, are they?
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Jean Vicquemare, Judit Minot & Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Let's go the hell home!

Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare was silent on the ride home from Martinaise. Which wasn't unusual when the special consultant won't let anyone get a word in edgewise. This had been exacerbated by the addition of Lieutenent Double Yffreitor Harry Du Bois to the motor carriage, as he not only humored Trant's incessant current of information, he asked _follow up questions._

  
Officer Judit Minot had meekly climbed into the back of Trant's motor carriage, sitting beside Harry in order to provide much-needed space for Jean up front. He'd truly had enough for one day and she didn't want to see what would happen if he was pushed further. 

  
The temperature was dropping and the sun was setting behind the city as they sped down the 8-81. Jean pushed his fingers through his hair and then gripped a fist full. A small release of tension and frustration, not meant for anyone to notice. But Judit did. She also noticed his sad eyes reflected in the window as he gazed listlessly at the horizon. It made her own chest ache.

  
She wanted to ask if he's alright, in her gentle disarming way, but now wasn't the time. He wouldn't want to be asked in front of Harry. 

  
The MC was jostled by a pothole. Trant asked for Jean's input on their discussion and he doesn't even acknowledge that Trant spoke. The special consultant simply continued prattling on in his cheerful, radiant way. Judit frowned behind Jean. 

  
Unbeknownst to the man beside her, or the man driving, Judit gave Vicquemare's bicep a tentative squeeze. 

  
"Almost there." She said softly, her voice bouncing just enough off of the motor carriage door that it can carry to Jean only. He nodded, his expression unchanging. 

  
Trant Hiedelstam was kind enough to drop the amnesiac detective off at his apartment building. 

  
"Here, it's a spare key. Don't lose it." Jean said gruffly, "Or do, actually. I don't give a shit."

  
A single key was palmed into Harry's waiting hand. It was without a key ring, because it had been Jean's, beside his own house key and mailbox key and keys to a few doors in precinct 41. 

  
He doesn't mention it. 

  
The three watched in silence as Harry limped up the stairs of a grey building, his leg still screaming from the bullet wound. He hesitated a few times, clearly unsure which apartment was his without checking the numbers. Then he disappeared around a corner.

  
They pull away, the atmosphere in the MC drastically changed after Harry's departure. 

  
The special consultant has just enough self-awareness to respect Jean's desire for him not to talk.

  
Soon Jean and Judit entered C-wing, ready to wrap things up for the day, while Trant left straight away to pick up Mikael. Jean stood over his desk, staring but not seeing anything. The reports could wait until morning.

  
"Do you want me to bring over dinner?" Judit asked gently. 

  
Jean looked up at her slowly, a delayed reaction. 

  
"Yeah. I guess." His eyes fell back down to the desk. Manilla folders were piled high on the left side and a few forms were splayed across the center. It made no difference to him if Judit comes over or not. He felt numb and far away, like he was watching the world around him from the very back of a theater. 

  
"Alright. I'll be over at 7...if that's okay." Judit said in low voice.

  
"Yeah." Jean muttered without making eye contact. "Yeah, okay." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

  
Judit was left standing with her hands clasped in front of her, wondering if she was helping or imposing. 

______________________________________________________________________________

  
Jean Vicquemare sat on his sofa with his tie loosened and his head in his hands. He felt a migraine coming on. Judit occupied the other side of the couch, gently passing a take-out container to him. 

  
It slowly dawned on him what she'd done, and it made him feel like an asshole.

  
"It's that noodle thing I can't pronounce from the mesque place." He glanced at her curiously. "You remembered that? That was _months_ ago."

  
"Well, you did say you really liked it." The slight woman said with a half-smile.

  
Jean sighed. It was too thoughtful. He didn't deserve someone remembering his favorite thing from some restaurant. A feeling like guilt stung his stomach. 

  
"Thank you, Jude." His voice was scratchy and it crackled a bit.

  
"Don't mention it." Judit offered another muted smile.

  
They ate quickly, neither of them having ate lunch that day. Judit was the one to break the comfortable silence between them.

  
"Richard and I are separating." 

  
"Good for you, Jude. And good riddance." Jean said sincerely.

  
It felt as if Judit should continue, but she doesn't. 

  
"I know this was a long time coming," Jean starts carefully, "But it better not have anything to do with me."

  
Judit froze. Any joy she felt from sharing the news had vanished.

  
"No, no...of course not. It needed to happen." She said quickly. It was not a convincing recovery.

  
Jean dared to look at her, and saw how deflated she was now. He wished she wasn't so nice to him, that she didn't remember what food he liked or follow him to the ends of the earth to find his idiot partner. 

  
Actually, what he _really_ wished is that he felt the same way for her. She's a wonderful person, and she already had children. He could have the family he'd always wanted all at once. 

  
But it wasn't in the cards. Nothing ever is. 

  
And he was not even going to try to explain that he's not capable of being attracted to decent, normal people. That he is exclusively drawn to those who want to get _worse._

  
"I think I'm headed to bed, Judit. Thanks for dinner...and for...." He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. She had done so much for him the past week. "For helping me. With the shitkid."

  
She forced a cheerful goodbye that twisted his stomach. He immediately stripped to his underwear and lay in bed as soon as she was gone. The migraine was building. 

  
His legs were splayed as he stared at his dull popcorn ceiling. He's never known that he's handsome.

  
The events of the past week ran through his mind. The horrific news of the tribunal. Harry looking at him like he's a stranger. The gunshot wound in his partner's thigh. His worry for Harry like a crushing weight on his chest. 

  
And now rejecting Judit, the only sane person who could stand to be around him. 

  
Crying wasn't going to help his headache, he knew that. But he was so sleep deprived and his heart was battered, and he was incredibly alone in the dark of his bedroom. His eyes started to sting and there was nothing he could do to stop it now. A shaky breath pulled through his nose and he squeezed his eyes shut, the tears spilling down. The heels of his hands rubbed his eyes as he gasped and cried out. 

  
And there was no one to hear him. 

  
Jean rolled onto his side as the sobs racked his body. He wished he was dead. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The phone rang in the kitchen and he ignored it, not able to think of a single person he'd want to be calling him. 

  
He wept until he couldn't anymore, and he didn't feel any better. At least he had exhausted himself enough that he maybe could sleep. He wiped his tears on his arm one last time and let the darkness take him.

  
Then there was a heavy knock at his door.

  
The interruption to his desperately needed sleep made him growl. He didn't know who it could possibly be at this time, but he hoped they were ready to _die._

  
Vicquemare pulled on sweatpants from his floor, scowling, and aggressively yanked the door open.

  
"Oh...oh no...not you." Jean, hand on his head in disbelief, stared wide-eyed at his partner in the doorway. The moon hung in the sky behind him, a clear night. 

  
Harry looked determined and clean. He had clearly showered, and changed his clothes, and had something on his mind. Something that couldn't wait.

  
"I'm actually speechless. Go the fuck home, Harry." Jean barked.

  
But Harry didn't go the fuck home. Instead, he observed Jean's swollen eyes and frowned.

  
"I tried to call first. I need to tell you something."

  
"No, you fucking _don't_." Jean shot back, "You need to leave, or I may, in all seriousness, _completely lose my mind._ " 

  
"You've been crying. You're crying because of me." 

  
"Dick Mullen does it again!" Jean throws his arms in false excitement, "You cracked this thing wide open, congratulations. Now _go the fuck home._ " 

  
Before Jean can react, Harry swoops into his apartment and hugs him tight. Jean's arms are pinned to his sides and try as he might he can't yank himself away.

  
"OFF. ME. NOW. SHITKID." Jean's voice was a dangerous rasp, but still teetering slightly on endearment. 

  
Jean slowly relaxed and accepted his fate. No matter how much muscle he built, he would never be stronger than a bear-hug from Harry Du Bois. 

  
"What is it, Harry? What could you possibly want?" Jean's voice is smaller now, defeated.

  
Harry finally released his partner and looked in his eyes.

  
"When I got home today, I remembered things. I remember you."

  
Jean sighed heavily in response.

  
As if to prove it, he continued frantically "You have eight sisters and your father was a bastard."

  
Jean's mouth hung open slightly, his protest halted.

  
"You hate the taste of lime and it makes you gag, and you pretend that's why you won't drink tequila with me."

  
"Well hold on, that's actually-"

  
"Giulliame Bevy is a _tool_ , and even though he left because of me, you secretly don't care because you think he's insufferable." Harry grinned at this. 

  
Jean's eyes brightened with mischief. 

  
"You've only had sex four times, and _you didn't even like it_ , because they were all women and you-"

  
"Whoa, whoa, wait, did I tell you that?" Jean looked shocked. 

  
"Psh, yeah! Now who's not remembering stuff!" Harry crossed his arms smugly.

  
"Okay, so you don't know where the fuck you live," A grin tugged at Jean's lips, "but you remember that." He'd never admit how much he's enjoying this back and forth with his partner.

  
"Your key told me, and I started to remember everything."

  
"My...my key?"

  
"The key you gave me. It wasn't just a 'spare key,' it was _your_ key. To my apartment. Because you're my best friend. And best friends have _secret best friend spare keys_."

  
"Wait...when we dropped you off today..." Jean continued incredulously, "None of us told you which apartment you lived in. You actually didn't know, did you? _You asked the fucking key where you lived._ " 

  
"What else was I supposed to do?" Harry shrugged, as if this was evident.

  
Jean rubbed his palms over his face with the weariness of a thousand lifetimes.

  
"That's...great, Harry. That you remember me." He mustered enough patience to say. "Glad my key could fill you in. I guess."

  
"I still can't remember anyone else. Just you." Harry added sheepishly. 

  
The significance of that sunk in, and Jean felt a burst of warmth in his chest. He turned from his gaze to collect himself, and when he looked back at Harry, he could see he's zoned out. Doing that thing he does.

  
"I really fucked this up, Jean. I fucked up good." Harry's eyes shift as he listens to things only he can hear. "And... now I know. About the other thing. The thing you don't want me to know."

  
Goosebumps rose on Jean's arms. _He's communing with those voices. God, what did they tell him?_

  
"Is it that I really want you to leave? Because I do want you to know that." Jean deflected.

  
Harry stepped into Jean's space again. He had the urge to back away, but hated how nice it felt for Harry to be close. For him to be alive, and safe, and to fully have his attention. He wasn't distracted by his bourgeois succubus, or wrapped up in his alcoholism, or going around apologizing to everyone. 

  
Just Harry, completely present and there for him. Like he used to be. 

  
Jean's body was tense and his stomach flipped as Harry's eyes, full of regret and adoration, locked with his. 

  
"I'll get better, and I'll stay better. I'll never hurt you like this again." Harry said with a serious edge that Jean had never heard before. "It might take months, or even years for you to believe me, and that's okay. But whenever you trust me again, we can give it a fair shot." 

  
Jean trembled. Harry _knew._ Had he always known? 

  
"W-what do you-" He stammered.

  
Harry leaned closer and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

  
"Goodnight, Jean."

  
With that, the mutton-chopped detective opened the door and limped out into the night, leaving Jean more speechless than when he arrived.

  
Jean shut the door, still in a daze. He cackled to himself.

  
"Well. Unpacking all of THAT can wait until morning. _Shit._ " 

  
Feeling relieved and comforted in a way that was alien to him, Jean climbed back into bed and slept through the night for the first time in a month.


End file.
